Nice Boys
by RebelsAdvocate
Summary: His name was Felicks Łukasiewicz, and he was the colorful new kid, the ideal target for the school's tsardom of superiority. Little did they know, he was quite superior himself, and proud to show it. Hetalia Mean Girls AU. (Yes, you read that correctly; it's a high school Mean Girls AU.) One-shot.


**Welcome to this tentative Hetalia Mean Girls AU, dipped in unexpected angsty character development and sprinkled with crack! Note that I will leave the "one-shot until deemed otherwise" description as it stands.**

* * *

His name was Felicks Łukasiewicz, and he was the new kid. Having just transferred to this shiny, new public institution on the American East Coast due to a bullying incident at his old school, he thought he was ready—that he would be able to breathe in this nice, salty air with ease. It was supposed to be a more prestigious school, which gave Felicks the false sense of security; the work would be more stimulating, the students nicer and more accepting. He would get through his education without any more sort of _incidents_ marring his experience. High school was supposed to be fun! He would survive.

He was wrong.

Within moments of his principal, Mr. Jones, proudly announcing his name to his first hour class on Monday, Felicks felt the wave of dread wash over him—but it was just a harbinger of more to come. He looked around at all the bored faces watching him, feeling as though he was on display, standing there at the front of the room. He blushed, hiding his face in his chin-length hair, which suddenly felt too long and too bright-blond and too feminine. He uncomfortably buried his hands into his red sweater pockets and waited out the torture. The tall principal looked down at him, concerned, and Felicks could only glower in embarrassment, prompting Mr. Jones—who had _such_ a typical name—to raise his eyebrows confusedly. He opened his mouth, but Felicks had promised himself he wouldn't take pity. So before anyone could do anything, Felicks claimed his seat and didn't speak or look at another person for his next few classes.

Luckily, lunchtime came, which meant food and distraction. It was only more disappointing for Felicks, then, to find out that what they served at this stupid, fancy place did _not_ meet his standards. After waiting in line for a gatrillion hours, a grouchy lady in a hairnet finally got around to plopping a fat lump of some type of meat onto his plate. Felicks had to restrain himself from shrieking in disgust. This wasn't "sausage." Not like the food he ate at home. This was a cause for mutiny.

With another weight added to his shoulders, Felicks turned and began searching for a place to sit. They really packed kids in here, like sardines. No table was empty, but he hated being alone.

"Hey, chick. Can ya move?" He was nudged in the shoulder by an overbearing football player. Felicks turned, looked him up and down. Sweatpants with holes, jersey doused in perspiration, unshaven face, a typical loser. Not worth his time.

"What the hell, man?" The guy's expression changed. It seemed he had been doing a visual analysis, too. "Or— _not_ man!" A laugh. "I can't tell if you're a—"

Felicks was already walking away, his face burning, his chin held high. He wove between the tables carefully but quickly, searching for _anywhere_ to sit. _Anywhere_. He didn't care. He was set on one of the more sparsely populated tables lost in the middle of the luncheon throng, when a trill-like but melodious voice out of nowhere snagged his attention.

"I like your hair!"

Felicks halted, turning just his head to awkwardly glance down at the three people seated at the table next to where he was standing. He didn't have to glance down too far, though, because he quickly located the immensely-built young man who had uttered the words. The kid was smiling, giving him a small hand-wave.

"I don't," muttered the pouty girl sitting next to the speaker. "Ivan, you like _my_ hair better, right?"

"Your hair is pretty, yes!" remarked Ivan, giving the girl a pat on the head. The girl glared. Ivan turned back to Felicks, his face still friendly. "Oh, are you looking for somewhere to—"

"I'm fine!" insisted Felicks, self-consciously combing back his hair. "Um, thanks, I guess," he told the boy, looking away. He did not want to admit his weakness. He stormed over to the table he had been eyeing earlier, which wasn't actually that far from Ivan's, and abruptly slammed his tray down.

The three boys sitting at it jolted up from the shared computer they were ogling, their faces plastered with terror. Felicks leaned in and said in the calmest voice he could manage (which wasn't calm at all), "I am _sitting here_ whether you like it or _not_!"

Behind him, he caught the sound of a giggle. It could have been that guy Ivan's. Felicks slumped into his new, self-acclaimed seat and stared down at his disgraceful food in utter despair.

A long, silent moment passed in which no one at the table moved or spoke.

Finally, Felicks heard a voice. One of the kids was speaking to him. "Um, y-you can sit here if you want. We're all okay with that—if you need a place to sit! R-Right, guys?" A pause.

Felicks finally looked up. The shortest of the boys had been speaking, his voice all shaky. The boy seated in the middle, closest to the computer, turned to address the situation of his friend.

"…Right," said the last of the three, seated directly across from Felicks. He was staring at the newcomer with some intimidation, his green eyes big and concerned. Felicks peered back at him. Then Felicks lurched in his seat.

"Hey, your hair is like mine!" he said, the words coming out more accusatory and less approving than he hadn't meant them to when he hadn't thought them up in his head first before voicing them. "Um, I mean, like, long and everything." He examined the kid's hair more closely. It was a muted shade of brown, and more wavy than his own. Nice, quality hair.

The boy, possibly more alarmed, leaned back a bit further. "Er, I guess."

"Yes, it is!" chimed in the glasses-faced computer kid. A kamikaze attempt to smooth out awkwardness.

"Yeah, it's...cool!" said the small one.

Felicks stared at him, narrowing his eyes. The boy shrunk back. "Yes," said Felicks slowly. "It _is_ cool."

A beat. "Yeah, Toris, I like your hair," Computer Kid added. "Even Ivan likes it!"

Toris blinked, then looked down and stabbed into his potatoes. "Yeah, that's right. Ivan likes it," he mumbled.

"Who's Iv—" Felicks began, then stopped, remembering. "Ivan is that kid over there, right?" Who was this guy, who gave out so many compliments to hair?

"That's him," confirmed Computer Kid. Maybe it was Felicks's imagination, but he shrunk back a bit when he said it. "Um, are you new here?"

"That is right," said Felicks.

"Oh! Well in that case, hi! I'm Eduard, and…"

"My name is Raivis!" said the small one with the curly hair.

"I'm Toris," said Toris. "Er, it's nice to meet you. What do you call yourself?"

"F-Felicks," he muttered, wondering why he was muttering. He shifted position on the bench, the hard wooden seat killing his butt. "So Ivan's, like, the popular kid around here? Or just, like…" He trailed off, hoping someone would pick up and answer the question.

Eduard did. "I…guess; he has a lot of influence. And the two girls sitting next to him are Natalya and Yekaterina. They're family, I think, but I don't know exactly _how_."

Toris swallowed, and then chimed in. "Natalya's really pretty, but she freaks me out a bit. She's…very close to her brother…"

Eduard shivered. "Natalya is terrifying to the point of being a _psychopa_ —" Natalya was not looking over at their table, but he checked and stopped himself anyway. "Yekaterina's nice, though. She smiles at me sometimes, and we only know each other through choir."

Felicks waited. Then got impatient. "Tell me more about Ivan."

"Ivan," gulped Raivis. "Um, well…how to explain Ivan…" He continued after Felicks raised his eyebrows. "Ivan is…different."

Toris leaned in. "See that scarf he's wearing? He wears it all the time. I hear it's worth as much as the lost Amber Room!"

"Someone told me he does vodka commercials _in Russia_ ," Eduard added.

"His favorite book is _War and Peace._ Or was it _Crime and Punishment_? I don't remember. Do you?"

"One time he met the President of the United States on a plane, and he said they would talk more later! Can you believe it?"

"One time he bumped into me at lunch and stole my tray!" Raivis cried pitifully over his bagged meal, which he must have brought from home. "It was awful!"

Toris nodded solemnly. "He's always just…overbearing. In a polite sort of way, I guess. And he _always_ wins a seat on the student council."

Felicks made a _Hmm_ sound. "So you guys are, like, affiliated with him, or what? Friends? Enemies?"

Toris cringed as Raivis and Eduard looked at each other nervously, like they either weren't sure about telling Felicks, or their relationship status with Ivan was still sore. "Er, we used to all be part of his friend group, but we…drifted apart, over the years." He lowered his voice. "I think he thinks we're still closer to him, which makes the situation more uncomfortable."

Hardly a circumstance to gossip about, yet Felicks enjoyed listening to Toris. Just knowing the bit of inside information made him feel like he belonged more at this school. And to his diamond-precise judgement, he didn't think anyone else in the room besides these three cared about these three. Maybe Ivan was courteous to acknowledge them—but maybe Felicks just needed to become their friend.

He looked at the three. They were a bit rough around the edges, worn thin by high school pressure. But they seemed intelligent and they had let him sit at their table. He decided he would stick with them for now.

Felicks smiled a little to this thought, which made Toris blink, confused. "So," he began, "will you tell me more about the peeps you know at this place? And, like, the other school stuff I need to know, too."

"Oh, okay!" chimed in Raivis, happy for the change in subject. "Uh, let's see, we know lots of people! Hm…over there is Yao Wang and his group of friends!"

Felicks looked.

* * *

Kiku was simply trying to read a manga, but had to concentrate especially hard because of Mei's constant yakking in his ear and the conversational argument, growing in volume, between Yong Soo and Yao.

Yao extracted an object from his panda-shaped lunchbox. "Look!" He broke open the fortune cookie and mockingly proceeded to read aloud from the slip of paper inside. "It says—IT. BELONGS. TO. ME!"

Yong Soo yelped and lurched across the table, trying to grab the crisp. Leon turned, smoothly catching the eye of the one who was observing him across the room as if to say in a snide, passing way, "Like, what are you staring at?"

* * *

 _Humph,_ Felicks thought to himself. _A bunch of Asians. They look pretty nerdy…but also maybe cool._

"Oh, and Heracles and Sadik are right next to them," Toris pointed out. He referred to a duo of muscular guys having an intense staring contest, their faces painted with rage.

* * *

"I cannot believe you disliked my cat meme on Facebook," whined Heracles. "Everyone likes Tardar Sauce. Why would you—"

Sadik laughed. " _Pssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ I can't believe you even _made_ that, much less posted it! And wait, _what_ about tartar sauce?"

"It's the cat's _name._ You must be a fake fan."

Sadik lurched back, shaking the entire table. "Shut up!"

Heracles pouted, slumping over his salad. "At least Kiku liked it. It took me three naps and two philosophical showers to think up the joke. And I forgot to do my homework."

* * *

 _Some varsity jocks,_ Felicks hypothesized.

Raivis picked up the descriptions. "And next to _them_ are Arthur and Francis and…uh…I forget that other guy's name."

* * *

Matthew simply watched the conversation.

"This food disgraces _everything_ I stand for!" complained Francis, gesturing to his tray of grub with disgust. He flung an arm up and let it fall dramatically over his forehead.

Arthur crossed his legs, leaning back in his seat and frowning at his own plate. "Oh, I _know_ , right? You've got to be a bit more than _slightly thick_ to want to serve _this_ rubbish."

Francis paused. "Not like it's any better than the food _you_ make," he said under his breath, stabbing his fork into the glob of substance, pinky finger up.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Francis; what was that?" He turned slowly to Matt. "Did you hear that, um…"

" _Nothing_ , ugh," was all Francis could respond with, curling a finger through his gorgeous blond hair. "Don't you bother—er…"

Matthew stood up and shouted "MY NAME IS MATT!" at the top of his lungs. No one in the whole cafeteria heard him.

* * *

Felicks frowned. _A grumpy, unfriendly-looking guy, someone apparently named Matt, and an absolute hottie._

The three kids had paused, so he turned back to them, watching all three of them assess their surroundings. Finally, Toris said, "Er, Feliciano and Ludwig are over there. Sitting next to…yeah, that's Lovino and Antonio."

* * *

"I think I'm dying," Feliciano said sadly as he looked into his lunchbag.

Ludwig glanced over. "…And why is that, exactly?"

"I forgot the sauce." Feliciano looked legitimately as if he was about to cry, pulling out a single plastic container of cooked spaghetti noodles, off-white and naked. " _I forgot the sauce._ "

Lovino choked out a harsh laugh at his brother. "Why the hell would you want to eat it cold, anyway?"

"Lovino!" chided Antonio. "Here, Feliciano, do you want to eat one of my tomatoes?"

Lovino's guffaw was close to a shriek. " _Why_ the hell would you just eat a whole tomato for lunch?"

Antonio casually pushed the bulging bag of tomatoes he kept on his person at all times under the table so Lovino couldn't see. He smiled. "Tomatoes are great!"

"I'm okay, really!" insisted Feliciano. "I'll just…" He gulped. "I'll just bear it." He opened the container, selected a single strand of the pasta with his fingers, closed his eyes, and slurped it up. The noodle twisted mid-slurp and smacked Ludwig in the face.

* * *

Felicks smirked. _Guys who eat their feelings, and guys who don't eat_ anything _._

Raivis perked up. "Oh, oh, and Peter's table is the one way over there in the back! He's younger. He sits with his group of friends, though I don't actually know their names."

"Hmm, I don't, either," commented Eduard.

"Never heard of them," Toris said simply.

* * *

Everyone had showed up today. Peter was pleased.

"Do you have your folders?" he questioned authoritatively. "Your pens and cameras?"

Nods all around.

"Brilliant." Peter was thrilled, his heart pounding with excitement. "Let's begin."

* * *

 _Desperate wannabes,_ Felicks concluded.

" _Oh_!" Eduard's face lit up, startling everyone. He raised a finger and pointed at a table just beyond Ivan's. "There's where Tino, Berwald, Mathias, Lukas, and Emil always sit! See them?"

Toris and Raivis looked slightly crestfallen. "He's quite fond of that group," whispered Toris to Felicks.

* * *

" _What_ are you doing with that butter," Mathias asked, his voice wavering.

"Nothing," Lukas coldly assured, batting away Mathias's hand and inconspicuously stuffing a few packets into his pockets. "An experiment."

Emil made a horrified face at his older brother, but didn't say anything.

Tino laughed nervously, then introduced a new topic of conversation. "So, um, you know the mall in town? I found out that right next to it, they just opened up the recreation center! It has a track and a golf course and a pool and even a sauna! Doesn't that sound fun?"

Mathias blinked, awestruck. " _Wow._ We should totally go do that sometime. I know how you all _love_ to see me in a bathing suit!" He bumped Lukas with his hip, causing another stolen packet of butter to slip out of Lukas's pocket.

"Sounds nice, Tino," Berwald commented. In reality, he had barely been paying attention. He was having a staring contest across the room with the new kid, who had been eyeing them up and down. He was winning.

* * *

Felicks held the tall, intimidating guy's gaze for as long as he could, until his body began to tremble. He finally looked away, stuttering out, "They're—they're _burnouts_ , that's what they look like."

"Hm?" Toris inquired.

"Oh, nothing, sorry," Felicks mumbled to himself, happy to shift his gaze upon Toris's less-terrifying face. Toris did have a sort-of calming face, now that he thought about it…

"Over there is that group, um, Vash, Lilli, Roderich, and Elizabeta," offered Eduard.

* * *

The table was silent, until…

"Roderich," giggled Elizabeta affectionately, "turn your volume down. I can hear your music."

Roderich ripped out his earbuds. "T-that's fine, I was getting bored of it anyway," he announced for everyone to hear. "It was cheap on iTunes."

Lilli hid her light laugh behind her hand. Only Vash noticed it, and he turned to glance at his younger sister. He must have also deemed the situation amusing, so he carefully plastered a small, dignified smile upon his face. Then he stopped, held himself back from stealing a glance at Roderich's assaulted expression, and dug into his food.

The table was once again silent.

* * *

Felicks wasn't quite sure he had a name for _that_ group. Something about them screamed of geeky sexual tension.

"So, do you like, hang out with any of these people?" he tentatively asked, then took a swig of overly-sweet grape juice.

The trio seemed to think for a second. "Um, not really," decided Eduard. "We're kind of friends with…ourselves." He gave a smile.

"Oh," said Felicks. "That's…cool." He wondered if there was more to the story involving them and Ivan's group.

Toris seemed to think for a second amidst the awkward silence. Finally, he asked, "So, what does your schedule look like?"

"Ah!" Felicks dug around in his khaki pockets. He knew he should have worn his favorite skirt; its pockets were much easier to manage with when in a sitting position. He spread the crumpled piece of paper on the table proudly. The three leaned in to study it.

"World Mythology II! Wow!" Raivis softly said.

"We're just one hour off of having computer sciences together," added Eduard.

Toris studied the sheet for a moment. "We have PE/health together," he noticed.

"Oh. Gym." Felicks adjusted himself into his seat. He was not bad at physical performance, but he dreaded it anyway. "Can we, just, like, skip that for today?"

The three gawked at him. Toris looked slightly horrified. "We can't skip class!"

Felicks bit his lip. He really wanted to skip, but the bell would ring in a few moments, and he would look like a fool with no one to skip _with_. "Okay."

Eduard laughed nervously.

He felt himself blushing, and nervously played with his hair. He did not want to think of all the new people he would meet in his later classes. "Um, do you know the coach?"

Toris studied him. "Mr. Beilschmidt, yeah. He's—he's tough. I don't like him very much…um, but that's okay." He stood up, tray in hands, preparing to dispose it. Felicks noticed he hadn't eaten much. So they were both anxious. "We can walk to class or something."

Felicks sighed. "Alrighty."

* * *

" _Do not have sex_!" hollered Coach Beilschmidt, pacing the room. He made stern eye contact with a girl seated on the bleachers in front of Felicks, who shrunk away and then giggled. "Trust me, it's not worth it! I know you angsty teens are going through emotions right now, like you wanna go vandalize and tear down walls and stuff." He grinned. "Let's compare a nice, hard wall to a condom, shall we? Now, you got this wall and this condom and…"

Felicks couldn't help but giggle along. He turned to Toris, who was staring unblinkingly ahead, praying for the Grim Reaper to come and take his soul. "Come on, it's a _little_ funny!" he whispered, touching Toris's arm.

Toris finally acknowledged Felicks. He gave a weak little laugh. "Um, I find it to be a bit uncomfortable, honestly. Just the way that Coach…"

"…so these condoms aren't like walls. They're weak losers. Everyone look at 'em!"

"…explains it," Toris finished.

"Hm," Felicks sang. "I know what would be _more_ uncomfortable; if he was actually making us show our balls."

" _What_?"

"…but they're more dangerous than you think!" continued the teacher, trying but failing to keep on a straight-faced mask. "They break very easily!" He picked up a condom, ripped it out of its packaging, and tried to stretch it apart. When it became clear he wasn't able to, he stuck the thing between his teeth and pulled, whipping his head from side to side. The bright green condom snapped free and flew brilliantly across the room. Most laughed. Some screamed.

"Alright!" Coach Beilschmidt decided, that grin still taking over his face. "I think I've made myself perfectly clear! That could have killed someone, and so can STDs! So watch out!" He stomped his boot—wait, why was he wearing a boot?—and turned on his heel. " _Moving_ on…"

Amidst the havoc of laughter, Felicks watched Toris. "You know I was totally kidding, right?" he coughed out, then gave a smile. Toris was very sensitive, it seemed.

Toris softened. "I—yes."

"Hm." Felicks gazed at Toris for another second, then flushed and flicked his eyes back to the teacher, who was digging some more equipment from his giant shelf of mysteries.

"Your quiz over the wonders of the reproductive system is happening Friday, and then we get to move on to the unit over types of diseases!" The coach quickly flashed a chart in front of the students, which was indecipherable. " _My_ favorite's the avian flu! After that, we'll move on to _mental_ diseases like anxiety and depression. Gosh, those are bad. Anyone feel _mental_ at times? Most people do, so don't feel bad. Gosh, I know _I_ do." He got suddenly quiet, staring off at nothing, his face aimed slightly towards Felicks and Toris.

Felicks leaned over and said gingerly, " _That_ is…weird."

Toris scratched his collar. "I, um. Oh." He looked down, and Felicks felt confused and somewhat concerned. Then he noticed something else about the teacher.

"Hey. Are—are his eyes, like, _red_?" Felicks peered closer, trying to get a better view. They were! Maybe he was mental after all! The coach caught Felicks watching and frowned, snapping out of his strange reverie and clearing his throat.

"What?" Toris responded. His voice had changed back to the normal tone Felicks was getting used to, enveloped in politeness and sealed with a wide, emerald gaze. Not that there was anything off-putting at all about his demeanor.

"Oh, just nothing." Felicks slapped his hands lightly against his thighs. These bleachers were not meant to hold people for such long periods of time. He almost wished today was a PE day. "What—what was wrong?"

"Hm?"

Felicks was about to press harder for an explanation when he felt the heavy anvil of silence fall upon the room. Slowly, he turned to look, and Coach Beilschmidt had indeed stopped talking, his red demon eyes boring right into Felicks.

" _I'm_ sorry!" the teacher cried out, his hands falling into place on his hips. He wore the exact expression of someone who wasn't sorry at all. "Were you having your own conversation? Too bad the awesome lesson I'm giving _interrupted_ it!" He paused. "Wait do I even—do you even know me?"

Felicks had the willpower to shake his head _no_.

The coach scratched his pale hair. (It was like a really whiteish color, but the guy wasn't, like, _old_ , so maybe it was dyed? Gross.) He thought for an extremely lengthy moment, then said, "Well, kid, I don't have to be your best BFF girlfriend to cram these essential knowledges into your brain. Pop quiz—can you tell me again when your sexy test is?"

Felicks sat rock-still in his seat. Of course he hadn't been paying attention, and now he was not only humiliated at the teacher calling him out, but humiliated he didn't know the answer. Because trying and failing is better than surrender, he winced out, "Friday?" thinking it was the most likely date for a teacher to assign a test.

The teacher began to laugh; Felicks crossed his legs and pouted. It was unfair, really, he deduced, that the coach could just—

"Correct!" Coach Beilschmidt bellowed. "You win this time, girlie. Er, boy-ie. Boy. Kid. Next time, watch your back. I never give up!" He turned back to address the entirety of the students. "And YOU SHOULDN'T GIVE UP, EITHER! Okay so, homework for health…"

Felicks glared at nothing in particular, still unmoving, until Toris lightly touched his arm. He whispered, "Yeah, Coach can be like that. Actually, he's _always_ like…" His words trailed off as they both turned to watch the man balance standing up on his wheely chair, attempting to reach whatever he needed to reach on top of his shelves. It was indeed a precarious situation. "Um, sorry."

Felicks turned to his newfound friend (immediately forgetting or opting to forget his teacher's warning) and decided he liked Toris a lot. A lot, a lot, in fact, and he was one to have trouble making friends. Where he had come from, he could remember having like one friend named Zygfryd, who was okay until he went and got arrested for mixing (and then smoking) chemicals in the sink. Of the girl's bathroom. Of the elementary school. At least, jail was where Felicks _thought_ he remembered Zygfryd to have gone…

Seeing as he had been just looking at Toris for a while now without explaining himself, and—his eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—seeing as the bell was about to ring, Felicks asked with the biggest puppy eyes he could manage, "Will you walk me to my next class?"

It might have worked, because Toris reddened slightly and said, "What's your next class?"

"Shit." He had to dig the paper out of his pants again. "World Mythology II," he read.

Toris thought. "That's far away…but…sure. Yeah. I will do that."

* * *

He had made it through day one of school. He had made friends. He knew some people. His classes hadn't been difficult. Now it was day two of school, and he had to do the exact same thing all over again. God, Tuesdays were the worst.

Felicks dug around in his closet for a while, humming as he ran the towel through his hair. He knew that he should hurry up or he wouldn't be on time to catch the bus, but today's outfit decision was being a big, fat meanie. He had wanted to wear his new skirt for some while now, but it wouldn't go with the perfect collared green shirt for his second day of school. He sighed and finally slipped into a nice pair of jeans, combing out his rat's nest and missing breakfast. The bus was a few minutes early, but luckily he was present to catch it.

Today, he might have wanted to make a better effort towards other people. But when he stepped inside his first hour classroom, he knew he just couldn't, yet. Too many faces, so much talking, so many different ways Felicks would mess up in conversation and end up staring at the floor, hoping everything would just go away. He retreated back into his shell, ignoring even the nice girl who picked up his pencil when he dropped it. Not like he had been using it to take notes, anyway. He scowled down at his smeared sketch of a dragon, suddenly wanting to laugh at the stupidity of it all. He held his breath, a gasping smile appearing on his face, feeling about to explode. He swallowed it down and breathed evenly. What was wrong with him.

Second and third hours came and went, and he realized he was starving. Maybe he should ask the guy next to him for a bite of his exotic granola bar. No, that was impolite and weird and no one did that. _Stiiiiiiilllllll_ … His stomach growled loudly.

The guy next to him turned, hearing Felicks. "D'you want a bite?"

Felicks slowly looked up, not quite sure what he was going to say. It turned out he wouldn't have had to worry, though, because suddenly the kid's _face_ was THE MOST _terrifying thing_ he had EVER SEEN. He jumped, the back of his throat letting out this horrible dying noise. The teacher paused, looked over, then slowly continued the lesson. No one else had noticed, to Felicks's relief.

"I—uh," Felicks spat out, his face burning, his body shaking a little. The guy was as tall as Ivan, and his piercing eyes were barely hidden past his wire-framed glasses. His face said, _I chop up and eat little girls like you for breakfast,_ but his clothes and his demeanor said, _Please read and rate the article I wrote about health and safety in the school newspaper! Oh, you don't read the school newspaper and until I mentioned it, didn't even know it existed? Well, that's quite a shame! We'll get someone on fixing that right away! Now, who would be the best for the job..._

The bell rang for lunch, but the tall guy didn't move and didn't take his eyes off of Felicks. Felicks stood up, his knees quivering. "Um," he said again, trying for more self-confidence in his voice. " _Um_!"

The guy raised his eyes but did not say anything. _So_ helpful.

"Oh, hello, friends!" A voice broke through the crowd. Felicks hadn't realized he and the guy with the glasses had made it outside, into the halls. _But they hadn't moved_! The eye contact had been too captivating. He whipped his head around, his hair spinning and catching a passerby in the face.

Felicks almost wished he hadn't looked, for striding easily towards them through the hall was Ivan. On each side of him stood one of his…sisters. Natalya's face was twisted in a glare, and Yekaterina just looked overwhelmed at all the people who kept pushing past her. Ivan was walking in the direct middle of the hallway, to the annoyance of a few others.

"Hello, friends!" Ivan repeated when he had reached them. He came to a complete stop, letting the traffic smoothly flow around him. Felicks was surprised there wasn't more shouting. "Felicks, Berwald, nice to see you!" He smiled, waving at them when they were a foot apart.

The kid with the granola bar—Berwald—did not say anything, just nodded. Felicks gulped. "Well, hi," he offered, not asking how Ivan knew his name already.

"Are you two going to lunch?"

Berwald shook his head _no_ , still keeping up that petrifying glare. Felicks was surprised Ivan wasn't backing away in fear. "Not today. Gotta find Tino. Fer a project." He pressed his half-eaten snack at Felicks, making Felicks take hold of it, and then swiftly marched away. _What the heck…_

"Okay, then!" Ivan chirped happily, flipping the scarf that had come loose back over his shoulder. He looked down— _looked down_ at Felicks. "Would _you_ care to join Natalya, Katyusha and I for lunch?" Natalya looked heartbroken, Yekaterina just confused.

Felicks would _not_ care to join them, thank you very much. He had already scored a group of friends, and what if they were waiting for him? Finding his courage, Felicks began to say so. He raised a pointing finger. "Actually, Mr. Ivan, look here, I've _totally got_ —"

"Great!" Ivan ensnared Felicks's arm in his, and before Felicks had time to think, he was being dragged down the hall. This guy had an _iron_ grip. Felicks debated yelling out or kicking this brick wall of a person, but decided against raising a larger commotion than the hall blockage had already raised.

They arrived at the cafeteria, and apparently Felicks wasn't allowed to get in line to get food. He wanted to protest this as Ivan sat him down at the table Ivan had sat at yesterday, but when he caught a fleeting glimpse of today's menu in the arms of a passerby, he hesitated.

The moment of hesitation allowed Natalya to sit down (as far as she could from Felicks) and mutter semi-politely to Ivan, "Why's he here?"

Ivan, who was reaching into Yekaterina's lunchbag for something to eat, smiled again, pleasantly. Felicks was growing to despise that smile. "He looked lonely and scared! So I thought, you don't want to be lonely and scared! You'll come with us! And you have such nice hair!"

Felicks was astounded at how he had no idea how to answer to this. "Um. Well. I see. Thanks, but, like, not." He paused to take a breath. "You know you can't just—"

"Are you hungry?" butted in Yekaterina, offering out her lunch bag. Natalya glanced at Felicks, reached over, and took out a Tupperware container and a fork. "I always bring enough to share!"

"Uh. I think I have…this." He held up the crushed half of the granola bar Berwald had randomly shoved at him. He took an experimental bite out of it to display. It was a darn okay granola bar. Natalya sniffled.

"Wow," noted Ivan as the rest stared and Felicks grew more uncomfortable by the second. "So, Felicks Łukasiewicz. Will you tell us more about you?"

Felicks shifted. A simper rose to his face. "Seems like you already know enough about me if you know my last name. I didn't even tell you."

Natalya, unfazed, answered before Ivan could. "He knows lots of things," she said, sullenly, swirling a fork around in the Tupperware box of mashed potatoes she had stolen from Yekaterina.

"Yes!" agreed Ivan, clearly not getting the point. "So, Felicks, where are you from?"

Felicks recoiled. He couldn't tell Ivan and Co. where he was from! He hadn't even told Toris, Eduard, and Raivis his angsty backstory yet! They were his realer friends! And where were they, anyway? Felicks whipped his head around, but the table they had dined at yesterday was barren and empty. Maybe they were just late. He swiveled back to the three, reaching up to quickly bite his nails.

"I said, where are you from?" Ivan repeated, suddenly super close, tapping a finger on Felicks's nose. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Felicks responded with growing hysteria, jumping back. God, this guy could be annoying. "I used to…I lived in Poland before coming here." His face was red, his hands shaking. "I went to a big, fancy private school in the other town and then got kicked out for falsely impersonating a teacher and then fighting a couple of dickheads and then jumping out of a window…while wearing a dress."

He clamped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything more.

It all just slipped out. Maybe he had said it to scare off Ivan, or Natalya. Those dickheads _had_ received nasty bruises. Maybe he had just needed to say it and hadn't realized how badly so far. But he had said it, and now there was no going back. "So they put me here."

Everyone at the table was frozen in position. Finally, Yekaterina reached out and lightly touched Felicks's arm. Her fingers were ice-cold. "That's quite a story! I'm sure you look really pretty in a dress."

Felicks frowned, not sure of what to say. "I _do_. Thanks."

Ivan put his hand on Felicks's other arm. Now he was being physically restrained by these two rulers of the school. Ivan tilted his head a bit, his ever-present smile blinding Felicks. "Really pretty!" he agreed.

Felicks shrunk into himself as if he had been viciously slapped by a giant hand representing self-consciousness (which was _totally_ the metaphor of the day). He had never given much thought to his appreciation of feminine clothing, even though most of the time he wore pants. Wearing a dress during his escapade had just seemed to be the perfect irony. The thing was an alarming shade of bright pink, a sash of fabric running down the side dipped in glitter, with a square neckline and frilly strap sleeves. He had bought it in a ferocious haze for six dollars at a secondhand store. He had put it on at eight thirty-five below a glassed window in a school bathroom, occupied only by him and another guy who was smoking. The smoker sputtered out laughter and gave a low whistle when Felicks left; Felicks saw him one last time across the parking lot, probably ditching school, as Felicks was being escorted from campus by a policeman who could barely contain his _own_ amusement. He didn't like to remember his escapade.

Yekaterina as well seemed to be dozing off into her own, dreamy thoughts. "But if you're from Poland, how do you speak English?"

Ivan turned to her, surprised. "Katyusha, oh my God, you can't just ask people how they speak English!"

Yekaterina's pleasant face bent into a confused one. "…But, yes, it seems like you can…" she said, quietly.

"I was taught!" Felicks quickly explained. "My parents spoke…and school…and I've been over here a crap ton of times..." He let the sentence trail off into oblivion as the three stared at him.

Ivan blinked. "So you liked Poland? And school?"

Huffing, Felicks ignored the question for a second, and turned around to check for his other friends again. The table was occupied by a few kids, but with only a glance he could tell they weren't Toris, Raivis and Eduard. He checked the lunch line. Also empty. Quite peculiar, then, for the three to all be missing at the same time. So they had planned this. And hadn't bothered to tell the new kid about it.

He grumbled to himself. But of course, that was what had to happen. Obviously the group was too tight-knit to allow in another member. Obviously they had been terrified of Felicks yesterday, quick to share the latest gossip but not quick enough to care about who they were restating it to. He was sad. He had liked them, and wanted to stay with them. He wanted—and, actually kind of _needed_ —Toris to walk him back to health/PE class, because this school was so big and confusing and Toris was so cute and Felicks completely didn't care about him and what he was doing now, at _all_. Ivan had been friendly. He would stick with Ivan.

Ivan, meanwhile, had slowly leaned over to whisper to Natalya. "Do you think he heard me?"

Natalya ripped the straw out of her milk carton, and in one smooth motion, flung it at Felicks. She hit her target directly in the ear. "Hey! What the—"

"You were asked a _question_!" she reminded saucily.

Felicks did not remember the question. "Oh. I—I meant to say yeah, sure."

Ivan adjusted his scarf. "So you mean to tell me you like Poland, your home country, and you liked school there?"

Felicks ripped off another piece of Berwald's granola bar with his teeth, meeting Ivan in the eyes and not looking away this time. "Yes," he asserted to the whole congregation. " _Very_ much more than here."

* * *

Lunch period was almost over, impatient students already having packed up and waiting at the doors with their backpacks. Felicks had endured Yekaterina, Natalya and Ivan practically the whole time through. They had continued pestering him about his home life and what it had been like in Poland, Felicks giving generalized answers like "No, _your_ organization of grade-levels in school is so confusing!" After finishing the damned granola bar, his stomach had began to throb, and he now knew he needed a change of scenery to cope with the devious emotions crawling up his throat, having sprung free when he opened up.

Ivan was giggling at something one of the girls had said. They were right—he _was_ so overbearing and politely cheerful that Felicks wanted to punch him.

Instead, he interrupted their conversation with the complete opposite motive. "Hey, um. Question."

"What?" all three asked in a creepy, creepy unison.

He swallowed. "Can I, like, sit with you here again? Tomorrow, whenever? For lunch."

Natalya examined his mein curiously, flicking a long, blonde swath of hair out of her way. He couldn't detect any hostile response; she simply asked, "Why?"

"Sure you can!" Ivan was already deciding. Yekaterina looked doubtful at his outburst. "But my sister is right in wanting to know why. If you wouldn't mind telling us."

" _You_ were the one who literally dragged my ass over here in the first place! Ugh, never mind." Felicks pushed his own hair out of his face. "Thing is, I of course have other friends—"

"Like those three you sat with yesterday?" Ivan inquired. "You are friends with them?"

"Yes! I—well, you see, not at the moment. Or, I don't know. They ditched me, I think. They—"

Ivan's posture had changed. He turned to the girls. "Natalya, Katyusha; that's Toris, Eduard and Raivis!"

Natalya jerked up from gazing deeply into her mashed potatoes, looking _pleased_ as ever. " _Those_ weak bitches," she hissed softly.

"Those are their names," Felicks deadpanned. "They're not sitting there today, and I made it quite _clear_ to them that—"

"Yes, we know them! They sat with _us_ for a while. I like them a lot!" Ivan had interrupted him yet again. "They were very nice, all friends! Then they left. Hmm. You know, I miss them."

Felicks _humph_ ed in his seat. For once, he was thinking too hard to respond quickly. What the heck did Ivan mean? It seemed as if the group liked _leaving_ people. It was almost as if—

Felicks felt his phone buzz.

He pulled it out of his pocket, read the text, and promptly sighed aloud.

"What's that?" questioned Ivan, leaning over to glance at Felicks's phone.

"Ah, nothing!" he insisted, turning off the screen before the bescarfed kid could get a view. He hesitated. "Alright, listen, I have to go. Now. Um, I'll see you later."

Yekaterina crossed her arms sadly—a feat, due to her admittedly large chest. "You're leaving?"

"Will you still sit with us?" Ivan asked as Felicks stood up. "Like you said?"

Felicks didn't know what to say, so he gave a little shrug, to which Natalya snarled at. "M'bye," he offered, then dashed out of the cafeteria.

* * *

For some dumb reason, there was a teacher-guard posted outside the library doors, monitoring who came in and out. After Felicks had argued with him for a while, he determined that the teacher was actually the school's principal, Mr. Jones. And that he was as unmoving as a boulder.

"Sorry, kid." Mr. Jones smiled kindly down at insignificant Felicks, holding out his palms. "I'm taking over this post for Mr. Tony, who has fallen gravely ill, and I know he would _never_ allow anyone into his domain without a teacher's pass or a plausible excuse! It's just a sacrifice we have to make. We can't just let students roam about, free!"

Felicks didn't understand, voicing his opinions of _But it's just, like, a library! That's all it is!_ to Mr. Jones.

The principal calmly shook his head. "I need a pass, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."

 _But you're the principal!_ "How was I supposed to know that?" whined Felicks, pushing ahead out of sheer surprise that he hadn't been yelled at by this teacher yet.

Mr. Jones leaned back, seemingly appalled. "What? I thought it was common knowledge across the building, I…" He peered back down at his concerned student. "Wait, are you that new kid from the other town?"

"Yes."

"Ah, then you don't know the rules yet! Well, well! I suppose just this once, since you're new and ignorant and all, I can let you off." He glanced at his watch, and Felicks barely heard him saying, "The period's almost over, anyway…" as he flung open the doors and barged loudly into the library.

He was immediately greeted by a small number of heads, boredly turning over to glance at his rukus out of curiosity. The heads that did not immediately look back to their studies were the three terrified heads Felicks was looking for. One of them, Toris, rushed over quickly and began to speak in a soft voice.

"Felicks! There you are! I'm so sorry! Eduard and Raivis had completely forgotten, and it's due in two hours, and we've been completely swamped this whole time!" He paused, seeing Felicks's expression. "Er, I hope you aren't angry."

Felicks simply sat down at their table across from Raivis, who was sitting next to Eduard. Neither of them looked up, both furiously clicking away on their computers. He was able to speak quieter, and decided to just say, "That's alright." The feeling of betrayal had altogether dissipated when he had read Toris's text of explanation. Obviously, a procrastinated assignment made more sense, and he could see just how much the three cared about their schoolwork. "I sat with Ivan."

Raivis paused from his typing to look up. "You did?"

Felicks nodded, feeling a blush creep to his face. "Well, he made me."

"Mm," Eduard mumbled, not looking away from his screen. "How—how was it?"

"Fine," said Felicks. "Annoying. Fine."

Toris shakily took his seat. "Oh. Well, I'm glad you weren't lonely. Even if, I mean, never mind." He shook his head.

Their words calmed the nausea building up in Felicks's stomach, yet it gave him a reality check. He couldn't cling so tightly to these three when he had only met them yesterday. Maybe he did need another group. These kids were clearly common victims of pressure, anyone could see just by looking. Even now, as they typed and clicked away, working on who-knew-what. Felicks was being pathetic, and it was uncool. He should just sit with Ivan and the others, maybe.

"I…" He didn't know how to phrase this to the others. Only Toris was looking at him, while Raivis and Eduard were locked into their screens. "I might sit with them again, tomorrow," he said softly.

This time, they all looked up. Looked quite alarmed. "O-Oh." Raivis rubbed his head. "But why would you want to—er, um." He stopped talking, because Toris had made a face.

Felicks wheeled on Toris. "Well, what is _your_ opinion?"

The brunet played with the cuffs of his jacket, taking time to think it over. "If you want to…do it, I guess. No one's stopping you from doing anything."

Felicks was now flustered. He rocked back and forth in his chair. "But you've got to have an opinion! Didn't you and Ivan like, I don't know, get in a fight or something? Why did you stop hanging with him like that?"

Eduard sucked in a small breath, but said nothing and didn't look up. Toris just chewed at his lip, and when he spoke, ignored the question. "My opinion shouldn't matter if you feel one way, Felicks. You shouldn't let people tell you what to do." He was quiet, solemn.

Felicks, on the other hand, was duly frustrated and wanted only to yell out loud. He didn't, however; he squeezed his eyes shut, groan-humming to himself for a few seconds. He came to the short conclusion that he was finished with all this social grievance and all these new people. He just wanted to do something fun. And it had only been a day and a half of this school.

"Fine!" he declared, exasperated. The back of his mind wondered absently how many times he had used the word "fine" since beginning school here. He turned back to the table.

(Toris wanted to giggle, just at the irony, but didn't want to offend anyone, so he suppressed it.)

After a beat, Felicks cleared his throat. He pushed lightly against the back of Eduard's laptop screen, prompting Eduard to glance at him over it.

"Yes?" he asked, clearly annoyed but trying to hide it.

"What are you doing?" Felicks demanded to know. "Why are you keeping working if you know you won't finish in time?"

Raivis got up to run off to the printer, saying in a shrill voice, "Partial credit is better than no credit!" He stumbled over a chair leg.

"What is it?" Felicks asked again.

"We're actually almost done," Eduard informed, slowly, distractedly. "I just have this one…last…slide to do." His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen. "There's no way I can get these citations done in time…"

The A-flat toll of the bell echoed throughout the building.

"Oh no." Raivis let go of the stack of papers he held, and they crashed to the floor. He stared dejectedly at them until Toris scrambled to help pick them up, then joined in.

Felicks awkwardly stood up, shouldering his backpack. He looked down at Eduard, who had his head in his hands, unmoving.

Toris and Raivis joined them in a circle around the table. "What are we going to do?" Raivis asked, rhetorically.

"It's for choir, right?" Toris recalled. "If you have the essay, the presentation's probably not as important to finish…"

"But we have to present it to the _whole class_ today! I don't want to look lazy!" Eduard insisted. "And _everyone_ knows Beethoven and Handel and all those guys anyway, so missing just one is going to make us look even sillier."

Raivis looked like he was about to cry again. "We're out of time, Eduard."

"Maybe you could ask to present on another date," Toris offered.

Felicks was feeling stupid just standing there. He cleared his throat. "Beethoven and Handel are music composer guys, right? And you need another?"

"It's a matter of research," stated Eduard, picking up his laptop. He began to shut the screen.

"Have you used Chopin yet?" blurted Felicks. All the discussion about his home country with the other trio had gotten to him. He couldn't help but remember being roped into learning some of the old piano prodigy's songs when he was younger, and then subsequently throwing a fit about it.

Eduard halted, then turned to Raivis. "Have we?"

Raivis thought. "There are so many… What…what did Chopin write? Do you know, Felicks?"

Felicks shrugged, secretly viciously happy to be of service. "Oh, you know. Um. Bunch of…short pieces? I don't know about choir vocal stuff. Um. That one nocturne. Number nine, opus two, I think. Yeah, a lot of opuses. Is that the right word—opuses? Sounds nasty. His first name was like, Frédéric." He waved his hand to convey the general ambiguity of his statement.

"Can I just cite _you_?" Eduard mumbled. He had begun typing in a strange, laptop-folded, standing position. He began to walk out of the library, still typing, and the others followed suit.

"Thanks a lot, Felicks!" Raivis cheered. He skipped ahead to Eduard. "Wait, I think that's spelled wrong, here…"

Toris was looking at Felicks strangely as he said, "Um, sure you can. Good luck, I guess!" Felicks then addressed him with a "What?"

Toris looked away. "Oh, just nothing." He stared at the halls ahead. "…I think we're going to be late to our class."

He didn't know what it was, but something brought a smile to Felicks's face. "Then let's _run_."

"Huh?"

"Yea! _Chodźmy_!" He grabbed Toris's arm and took off down the hall, gleefully shoving straggling students out of the way.

Surprisingly, a flustered Toris obliged and ran with him.

Unsurprisingly, they were still late to PE/health class, and Coach Beilschmidt made them each run five more laps around the gym floor in consequence.

* * *

That night, Felicks sat in bed, his phone in hand. Anxiously, he sent the message he had meticulously typed out to the group conversation. He had stressed over it for a while.

Felicks: **so guys would you like to come shopping with me tomorrow after school? I need some new stuff for school and it would be great if u could help me!**

As an afterthought (but totally _not_ as an afterthought), he added another message.

Felicks: **and clothes maybe just warning you ;)**

After a few minutes of browsing Pinterest, he had four new text messages. Three of them were from the group conversation he had started.

Raivis: **sure!**

Eduard: **Sounds fun!** **I will come**

Toris: **I can drive if you need a ride. Do u mean the mall?**

Felicks smiled again. Damn, he was getting all soft. Clothes-shopping was a strenuous activity to be feared! He texted his response.

Felicks: **yes, the mall. and great! Thx!**

He closed out of the group conversation and checked the fourth message he had received.

Unknown number: **hi felix :) :) :) it's ivan :)**

Felicks quickly closed out of Ivan's message, trying not to think about how Ivan had seized his phone number, and went back to his group conversation. He read all the messages over again, giving a little sigh. He was about to put his phone away and get some rest, when a thought occurred to him. He typed and sent it, then shut his phone off, sighing happily in anticipation for tomorrow.

Felicks: **oh and by the way I should tell u that on wednesdays I crossdress!**

* * *

 **I apologize if Coach Beilschmidt was startling.**

" _ **Chodźmy**_ **!" is Polish for "Let's go!" because heck yes I'm classy enough to throw in at least one word of foreign language.**

 **Felicks refers to Chopin's Nocturne Opus 9, No. 2, a favorite piece of mine. Austria also performs it in one of the Hetalia Axis Powers anime beach invasion scenes. See, he's classy, too.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


End file.
